


Made Mortal

by aeonhie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Drift Compatibility (Pacific Rim), M/M, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, Sparring, Temporary Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 03:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30032325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonhie/pseuds/aeonhie
Summary: Atsumu had tried to look beyond the sky, past the clouds that obscured the vast galaxy lit ablaze with gas and burning rocks. The cartoons he watched on TV taught him that aliens came from outer space. It was a decade later when Hyogo exploded into ruins and rubbles that he realised the monsters he saw on television crawled out from deep beneath the pacific.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Made Mortal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toccoans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toccoans/gifts).



> unbeta'd and temporarily (or permanently) a oneshot  
>   
> thank you goobie for letting me rant about the absolute chaos that this fic went through before i accidentally forgot about it and left it in the drafts for four months  
>   
> also congratulations to hq for being the only fandom with atsukita or i wouldve left years ago /hj  
>   
> stay strong atskt nation i love you

Atsumu had tried to look beyond the sky, past the clouds that obscured the vast galaxy lit ablaze with gas and burning rocks. The cartoons he watched on TV taught him that aliens came from outer space. It was a decade later when Hyogo exploded into ruins and rubbles that he realised the monsters he saw on television crawled out from deep beneath the pacific.

By the second wave of destruction Earth had given birth to two monsters, one man made, one natural—a twisted sense of balance in an attempt to maintain the planet’s stability as terrible sized monsters tear through all the buildings and land. Atsumu grew up learning that the sky is blue and the grass is green. He’d never thought he’d ever seen grass turn blue as the stinging stench of Kaiju blood made his throat go raw.

The Miya household welcomed their own set of monsters years before the ocean floor split apart to birth their own. Hyogo’s local hospital witnessed the birth of boisterous brothers who wailed and screamed against the wrath of the storm outside. When the dark clouds parted, sunlight tore its claws through the open window and shone a light upon their fragile heads. 

They were raised like other children, behaved like other children. They grew, quarreled, and went to school. Both took up volleyball where they channeled all their energy into calculated sets and powerful spikes. Nothing in their childhood had ever hinted that they were raised to be fighters for planet Earth.

It was a wet afternoon during the twin’s coming of age when the roof of their little house crumbled to pieces. Weary legs scurried to safety as unstable bodies trembled in sync with the Earth. The birthday cake their mother spent hours baking was left to be crushed beneath dirt and debris, with all the love and joy from that morning trapped inside. The icing on their mother’s cold fingers were still damp.

Atsumu did not hesitate to enlist in the Jaeger Program together with Osamu when the recruitment process had commenced. Working under the Japanese Pan Pacific Defense Corp (PPDC), the Jaeger Program treated them as if they had sharpened their claws since the ripe age of one. From smashing spikes to the opposite of the court to pulling punches and tearing through alien flesh under the watchful eyes of God, Mother Miya never got to see the ferocity hidden behind the cheeky smiles of her children. 

They kept on winning, defeating Kaijus after Kaijus, succeeding missions after missions. The Miya twins boasted not only the title of being the youngest Jaeger pilots in the program, but also broke the record for the most kills and victories. Society had begun to fight back and it felt as if the world had started to regain back what they had lost. But victory was momentary and fragile. The creatures that tore to the surface from the pacific made it clear that humans were never the superior being. On the night of howling storms and raging waters, the Miya twins lost one fight.

“Everyone hates you ‘Tsumu,” Osamu stated matter-of-factly. 

“So?” was Atsumu’s nonchalant reply, staring at the ceiling bored as his hand fiddled with the bō staff. He can imagine the wrath of the PPDC’s Marshal once Suna brings the bad news. He doesn’t meet the disapproving gaze of his brother but feels it nonetheless. “Not my fault they all sucked.”

Osamu shakes his head and wheels himself closer towards Atsumu, face pulled into a frown. The harsh yellow light on his brother’s face made him look weary, heavy eyelids trembling above sleep deprived eyes. Suna had been the only to have left the combat room after Atsumu swiftly done away with all the candidates. 

“‘Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice was gentle, grating. A small part of Atsumu wants to badly snap back but he knows Osamu isn’t speaking out of pity.

“What,” Atsumu replied, tired.

Osamu bites back a sigh from leaving his lips—exasperated with the knowledge of why his brother is acting this way, infuriated that there’s very little he can do about it. 

"Do you still want to pilot?" Osamu asked gently.

The combat room stays devoid of sound for a while. It seems like such a simple question. A year ago the answer would've come as easy as breathing to the both of them. But things have changed now. Things have changed.

"I do, but," Atsumu started but stopped just as quickly. 

"But?”

Something uneasy crosses Atsumu's face but he tries not to let it show. There is no space for weakness, he couldn’t spare what had nearly cost the life of his brother. His face is still turned away from Osamu, guilt and shame still fresh on his mind after failing to protect his little brother. Osamu’s physical injury is a daily reminder of his mistake. Breathing suddenly felt foreign to him. “It’s not the same.”

_It’s not easy._

Osamu doesn’t know what to reply to that. He would never admit it aloud but being by his brother’s side brings him irreplaceable comfort and familiarity, but he couldn't for the life of him ever imagine piloting again. Not after that day. Old fear creeps back up his spine and he shakes his head to get rid of the feeling. It's all in the past now, even if the incessant pain in his body says otherwise. “Maybe you just need to give someone a chance.”

“Or therapy,” Suna cuts in from the door. 

Atsumu’s groan reverberates in the room. “Fuck off Suna.” There was no bite to his tone. Suna pays no mind to the breathing lump on the floor and stands by Osamu’s side. They share worried glances before returning their gaze on Atsumu, who meets their faces after feeling two sets of eyes on his neck. “How’d it go.”

“You’re lucky Aran is busy today, you got spared a scolding.” Suna rest his hand gently on Osamu’s shoulder, massaging the area there slightly. Osamu leans into the touch. “Are you getting up anytime soon or are you gonna continue to sulk?”

“I’m not sulking,” Atsumu pouted, to which both Osamu and Suna rolled their eyes in response.

“We’ll leave you to sulk then.” Osamu turns to Suna with a mischievous grin. “Push me back to our room Rin.”

“Do it yourself lazy ass,” Suna said despite grabbing the handle of the wheelchair. Osamu is more than capable of moving on his own but Suna enjoys pushing him at top speed down the hallway, even if the glare of Aran’s second in command still haunts him after he nearly crashed Osamu into a wall. “Hold on tight.”

They exit the Kwoon Combat Room, ignoring the groan from Atsumu and leaving him to sulk alone. He lifts an arm across his face to shield against the harsh yellow light. Silence made plenty of room for his thoughts to fester and grow, invading every part of his mind. With the distraction of his brother and Suna now absent, the weight of duty and reality is his to bear alone. 

He hates the silence. After being so used to commotion in the court, loud motion of machines, and the fury and anger behind those wretched monsters, the silence leaves him empty—makes him breathless on his darkest night, sleep deprived and weary on busy mornings. The bustling noise of the shatterdome barely reached the combat room. 

He has to keep fighting. The world waits for no one, especially not the Kaijus. He cannot bear to lose another family member, he nearly lost his only one for good. If things had turned out differently, he could be waking up in terror at night without hearing the soft snores of his brother. The thought grips his heart with fear. 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Atsumu looks at the staff in his hand, the same one he used from way back when he sparred with Osamu for the first time. It still fits in his hand. Right here, inside the shatterdome, inside the combat room, there’s still a will to fight. 

“What should I do?” Atsumu mutters.

“Go home.”

Atsumu blinks once, twice, a third time for good measure. He was certain there was no one else in the combat room. When he turns his head to meet the source of the voice, the first thing he notices is a pair of striking yellow eyes. A man stands in front of the double doors now slightly ajar, a PPDC jacket draped neatly over his shoulders, sleeves swaying gently by his sides.

“If you’re not here to fight then you should just go home.” 

Atsumu was getting a headache. Wait, no, he already has a headache, it’s just getting worse.

He throws himself on his feet to face the man by the door, who is shorter than him by a few inches but emanates an aura demanding of respect. It has no effect on Atsumu whatsoever. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Kita, not that it matters,” the man replied coldly. “I don’t think you’ll be here long enough to know me.”

Irritation fills his body like a building fire. 

“What gives you the impression that I’m not here to fight?”

Kita shows little to no reaction. “How are you going to move a Jaeger without a co-pilot?”

That shut him up quickly. He has a point but Atsumu would rather die than admit that. His fist grips the staff tighter. Atsumu’s pride is not born from only cockiness and confidence, he’s well aware of his own capabilities and contributions as one of the best pilots in the Jaeger program. If he has to prove that, then there’s nothing to lose. 

Atsumu lifts his staff, the end of it pointing straight at Kita. “I’ll prove to you I’m here to fight.”

“How?”

Atsumu drops his arm back by his side before turning around towards an isolated corner of the room. He stands in front of the large wall rack that neatly stored all the bō staff. Atsumu spares a subtle glance at his brother’s staff before grabbing a random one from the rack. He thrust the weapon in his hand forward, fist pointing towards Kita.

“Spar with me.”

There’s finally a twitch to Kita’s careful black expression, a small fleeting disturbance to his calm demeanor. “Spar with you?”

“Don’t think you can stand a fight against me?” Atsumu challenged.

The man provides no response. Instead he scrutinizes Atsumu sharply. His face doesn’t betray a single emotion but his scrutiny is palpable, eyes glowing molten gold beneath the flickering lights of the combat room. Kita blinks once and Atsumu feels as if he had laid his heart bare. 

“Okay,” was Kita’s simple response. Kita steps out of his boots and removes the jacket draped over his shoulder with one hand. He folds it neatly and places it beside his boots by the mat before entering the sparring area, maintaining eye contact with Atsumu. Kita catches the wooden sword that Atsumu throws at him with ease. 

“Four strikes marks a win,” Atsumu said, more out of formality than anything else. Slow fall into sparring stance, feet a calculated width apart. He sees Kita do the same, almost mirroring him. “It’s a dialogue not a fight.” Atsumu throws in a smirk. “But I’m not gonna dial down my moves.”

The amused smile on Kita’s face is hardly noticeable. “Neither will I.”

Atsumu has high standards for himself and he expects the same from his co-pilot. His previous spars with the rejected candidates had almost bored him to death. From the moment they met, there was something to Kita that felt familiar to him. He wonders, for the barest of moments, if he will ever relive the same adrenaline from his younger years. That part of his past lingers faintly.

No signal, no warning, the spar begins.

They circle each other like prey, eyes locked and steady. The slides and shuffles of their feet disturbs the silence of the room. Kita seems calm and collected, his control almost impressive—a contrast to Atsumu’s unpredictability and chaotic nature. Atsumu swings his staff and slices through the air without warning, the edge arrives centimetres away from Kita’s face.

“One-zero.” 

Kita gave him no time to boast about his feat before parrying his sword easily and resting the edge near the neck of his opponent. “One-one, better watch it.”

Atsumu’s grin is almost feral. Standing against an opponent who does not underestimate him is exhilarating. Kita shuffles back slightly to create distance but flinches when Atsumu acts out and strikes him on the side abruptly. He wants to challenge him, to see if Kita could handle all of his unorthodox moves that the previous candidates couldn’t.

“Two-one,” Atsumu breathed, adrenaline making him audaciously bold, daring. “Concentrate, Kita-san.”

The deep focus on Kita’s face has grown immense. Atsumu is a talented fighter, he may not appeal to everyone for his personality but his skills and experience cannot be denied. Kita may not be on the same level as Atsumu, but his every move is born from hardwork and dedication. He may not be the best, but he’ll never be the worst.

Their staffs connect again, meeting in high right, low left, high left, low right, repeat. They easily parry each other, catching each other’s advances and responding back. Their staff becomes an extension of them, communicating with each other non-verbally, swords quarrelling within the combat room. Kita’s attention is sharp as he zeroed in on one of Atsumu’s slip ups—taking full advantage of that slight second opening to land his staff a breath away from Atsumu’s faux blonde fringe.

“Two-two.” Kita’s confident smile lacked the cockiness and arrogance you’d find in Atsumu, it was almost soft as if he knew that he had proven himself to be a capable fighter. Atsumu’s heart nearly skipped a beat.

Atsumu parries his staff and they continue their fierce dance. High right, low left, high left, low right, middle. Atsumu feels the urge to begin implementing more of his collection of unorthodox moves. He finds no pleasure in body checking his opponent like the previous candidates. A small part of him wants this spar to last, relishing how easily their bodies communicate with one another. Kita beats him to it, deviating from counterstriking to tripping Atsumu off balance instead. The staff is once again inches away from Atsumu’s face.

“Concentrate, Atsumu.” Hearing his name surprised him. He shouldn’t be, there’s very little people in the PPDC who don't know the Miya twins, especially the louder twin of the two. Regardless, Atsumu swallows hard.

Back on his feet, Atsumu responds back to Kita’s advances with more force than before, pouring all his energy into the fight. He had almost forgotten what’d it had felt like to be riled up from a spar. The last time he felt like this was when he sparred with Osamu many years ago. 

Kita easily ducks his heavy blows, acutely aware of Atsumu’s sudden change in attitude. He manages to keep up with Atsumu, both moving in a competitive and cooperative manner. Kita tries to familiarize himself with Atsumu’s spontaneity, but Atsumu still manages to grab his wrist and throw him to the ground as if he’d weighed nothing. He lands on his back ungracefully. Kita rolls back to his feet and recovers quickly, glaring up at Atsumu from the floor. 

Atsumu's staff is pushed back by Kita’s advances and they both jump back to their original position, but this time something feels different. Their poses and stance echo one another, a silent bond forming between them. Both paid no mind to the change in their shifting dynamic before their staff came head to head once again. Kita's diligent training and intelligence against Atsumu's raw skills and talent. 

Kita strikes him off balance before pinning him to the ground, chests a breath apart. The years off battling must’ve made him sloppy, he never thought he would lose to someone. Atsumu heaves on the floor, chest knocking against the staff Kita has him pressed down with. Black tipped bangs hover agonizingly close above Atsumu’s forehead. Kita’s head blocks the stark yellow light overhead, but his eyes are blinding. 

“Four strikes marks a win,” Kita reiterates, voice breathy from exertion. A faint smile forms on his face, it would’ve gone unnoticed if his face wasn’t a centimeter away from Atsumu. “I win.”

Molten gold melts into his soul. Atsumu feels caged in, back pressing hard on the mat and chest bumping against Kita’s staff. He swallows hard and Kita moves with him. The feeling of being trapped is there but the presence of fear is oddly absent. It feels natural, it feels _right_. Atsumu had not completely registered that he had lost. Instead, he came to the abrupt conclusion that he had won something else. 

Maybe it was fatigue, or that he had thrown caution to the wind the moment he woke up. Maybe it was Kita’s steely gaze that gripped his lungs like a vice. Atsumu opens his mouth.

“Be my co-pilot.”

Aran makes a swift journey back to his office, coffee in hand and the weight of the entire Jaeger program on his shoulder. Upon re-entering his office, he finds Kita reading over some documents strewn on the coffee table by the lounge. He notices the tell tale sign of nervousness in Kita’s demeanor first, the frown on his lips second.

“You seem troubled, did something happen?” Aran inquired.

Kita’s face has always been carefully blank, but if you knew him as long as Aran did, you can tell when uneasiness settles in that curious mind of his. “I met Miya Atsumu.”

“Ah,” Aran replied back, voice doing little justice to the worry slowly building up in the pit of his stomach. “Did he do something?” He takes a sip of his coffee, preparing for the worst.

“He asked me to be his co-pilot,” Kita answered bluntly, to which Aran responds back by choking on his drink. Kita abruptly stands to pat Aran on the back as he coughs and wheezes. Concern has Kita furrowing his brows but otherwise his face is still carefully blank.

“Are you pulling my leg?” Aran wheezed.

Kita cocks his head to the side. “I’m not touching your leg.” 

Aran shoots him an unimpressed look but seeing the slight upturn of Kita’s lips relaxed him a little. It’s nice, he thinks, how he can still find little moments of peace even in the midst of an apocalypse. He sighs heavily before plopping himself on the couch, Kita following after with a tad more grace. “How did you two even meet in the first place?”

Kita mulled over his thoughts, picked up the document he was previously reading before starting to talk. “I was curious, I wanted to meet the infamous Miya Atsumu. I was originally planning to drop something off for him but things usually never go to plan within the Shatterdome.”

“You went out of your way to approach him yourself?!”

“Yes,” Kita said simply. Aran holds back from burying his head in his hands. 

“If I’d told people that you can cause just as much mischief as the twins, only Ren and Akagi would believe me.” Kita stares at Aran for a beat before letting out a soft laugh. Aran can’t help but chuckle himself.

“I don’t see him often, but when I do he looks like he’s carrying too heavy a baggage for someone so young. That cocky demeanor of his, I know it's artificial. I wanted to know what’s still pushing him to fight after all that had happened. Choosing to remain within the walls of the Shatterdome was a sign that the hunger is still there. I admire his persistence, but it must not be easy.”

Aran agrees. The Jaeger program knows no rest. Since the day it started running, it has been a continuous loop of action after action even to this day. They had spent millions on the Jaeger machines and accommodated the pilots as best as they could, but very little research had gone into the psychological trauma suffered from piloting. They’ve never had anyone survive a fatal Kaiju attack, never had to find a new co-pilot for anyone. Aran could not comprehend the full extent of what the Miya twins had to go through since the night of the incident. He knew Osamu had suffered the physical brunt of it all, often visiting the Shatterdome’s medical ward to find him screaming and crying in agony. Atsumu was there too, face indescribable. The guilt and sadness was harder to see in Atsumu, masked behind the brave front he keeps for his brother, choosing to only show weakness behind closed doors. The pride of being the eldest brother faltered from every sound of pain Osamu made. 

There is no time to stop and think. You have to keep fighting.

“Why did he ask you to be his co-pilot,” Aran asked, realising he was lost in thought for a little too long.

“I’m not sure,” Kita admitted. “He did so after I sparred with him.”

This is new information to Aran. “You sparred? With each other?”

Kita nods. “He asked me to.” The baffled look that returned on Aran’s face amused him slightly. “I may have challenged him a little. I found him brooding in the Kwoon Combat Room and told him to go home. It’s much better for him to return home then to force himself to stay here. Someone like Atsumu feels a heavier burden not piloting than actually biting the bullet and finding a new co-pilot.”

“I’m sure you’ve already heard the news from Suna. None of the candidates you chose satisfied him.” Aran recognises the papers Kita’s been fiddling with as the candidate profiles he picked for Atsumu. “So when Atsumu asked me to be his co-pilot, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’m not sure if we’ll even be drift compatible.”

They fall into comfortable silence again. Cold sea breeze seeps through the open window, gentle blows of wind hit their skin. Kita must’ve let the cool air in earlier. The roaring waves outside are barely above a whisper, faint noises of water hitting rocks. Aran’s coffee starts to lose its warmth.

“Drift compatibility,” Aran began. “They’re still such a strange phenomenon. I remember in the earlier days how the discovery was so abrupt, the moment it was determined to work we started putting pilots in Jaegers and fought. I still don’t fully understand the technology myself, we just kept fighting. We bore the consequences though, radiation exposure and all. But I digress.

“Drift compatibility is hard to determine. Some of them make sense. Siblings like the Miya twins for example—or childhood friends like Oikawa and Iwaizumi, all of them knew their co-pilot since diapers. There’s also lovers like Akaashi and Bokuto who read each other extremely well, both with a high degree of emotional intelligence, especially Bokuto. Then you’ll have two strangers who seem like they hate each other but end up being drift compatible. Both of them did have to begrudgingly come to terms with the fact but eventually they became one of our best pilots here.”

“Hinata and Kageyama?” Kita inquired. He received a nod as an answer.

“There’s no telling whether you’ll be drift compatible with Atsumu. I can only force so many orders, but I cannot force two people who aren’t drift compatible in the same Jaeger even if I tried. We both know the consequence of what that's like.” Kita hums softly, remembering incidents of failed neural handshakes from the past. 

“They say those who have piloted before know the type of people they can drift with.” Aran placed his cup on the table before turning to face Kita completely. “If anyone knows about drift compatibility, it’s Atsumu himself. He knows who he can and can’t have in his head.”

Kita responds with a quiet nod, seeming suddenly lost in deep thoughts. The document in his hand was already closed. He wonders if the right candidate wasn’t the people on the list, but the one sitting right in front of him. Comfortable silence occupies the room and they appreciate the rare opportunity to wind down. Times for relaxation are very few in between in this area of work.

“Kita.” Aran thinks about what he’s about to ask him. He looks at Kita now—remembers the boy he once was, understands the person he has become now. He smiles gently, fondness filling his chest from the memory. There’s a singular confident thought in his head. “Do you want to be a pilot?”

Yellow eyes blink at him. There’s a somewhat childlike quality to his confused expression which Aran finds endearing. He had yet to ask if Kita’s resolutions are still the same from years ago. Kita’s eyes soften. He never looks better than when he’s sure of something. “I do. I want to pilot.”

Aran nods softly before looking away, slowly becoming acutely aware of the growing noise from the other side of the door. Distant chatter within the Shatterdome grows increasingly louder as people return to their stations. Aran readies himself to leave and face the responsibility of being a marshal once again. He signals his leave to Kita and receives a silent acknowledgement in return. Kita remains in the office, probably to bask in the peace for a little longer while his head analyses a million different things.

Aran enters the hallway and glances back once at Kita before closing the door. The bustling noise of the Shatterdome is louder now. He straightens his back and walks like a man on a mission. His feet take him towards the Miya twin’s dorm.

“What do you think it is?” Suna was tempted to inspect the item on the table but thought better against it. “You think someone is finally brave enough to exact their revenge on Atsumu?”

Osamu entertains the thought but knows no one who holds that much grudge against his brother. “I think the better question is who that man was.”

Suna shrugs and leans back on the couch to wrap an arm around Osamu’s waist. The man did seem familiar, but he’s temporarily lacking the mental capacity to remember who. They both continue to stare at the item. Osamu rests his head on Suna’s shoulder, their hands intertwined on his thigh. 

“There’s definitely food in there, I can tell,” Osamu stated. Suna huffs a laugh, unsurprised.

“What if it’s poisoned?”

Osamu snorts. “‘Tsumu’s a prick but not enough for someone to want him dead.”

“Talking about food, are you still planning to help around the kitchen? The mess hall looked pretty happy after you helped the kitchen that one time.” Candidate and workers alike complimented his boyfriend. The thought fills Suna with pride. “Akaashi-san was especially impressed by your onigiri.” 

“That’s ‘cos Akaashi-kun likes onigiri.”

Suna rolls his eyes at his modesty. “Haven’t you always wanted to pursue cooking?”

“I do. I’ve thought about it even when I was still playing volleyball.” Osamu sighs softly, looking out the window. The waves seem to never cease moving. “I thought about how I was going to break the news to ‘Tsumu. He probably thought I would pursue volleyball with him. Things took a different route though and we somehow remain joined by the hip for another few years.” He feels his leg throb, muscle sore from the physio he did in the morning. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. “In the end I still ended up leaving him.”

Suna thinks of a response but his thoughts get interrupted when the sudden slam of a door has both heads turning towards the noise. Atsumu slumps by the threshold looking like he wanted to die right then and there. 

“I’m not gonna have a co-pilot by this point.”

“Obviously, especially after that stupid stunt you pulled at the combat room,” Suna interjects, annoyed that he had to be the one to report back to Aran about how Atsumu rejected all the candidates.

“I didn’t reject one.”

This time it was Osamu who perked up. “Come again?”

“I chose a co-pilot.” Atsumu thinks back to the past hour. “I think he said no.”

“You think?!” The pair on the couch becomes more confused by the second. Osamu shakes his head and beckons at his brother. “What the hell happened for the time that we were gone.”

Atsumu throws himself on the seat adjacent to the couple before smacking his palms on his head. “This person I don’t know came into the combat room and told me to go home and I didn’t agree with it.”

Osamu’s eyes start twitching. “And how did you react?”

“I challenged him to a spar.”

“I took all the brain with me when we left the womb,” Osamu deadpanned.

“Shut it! He was the one who told me to go home! I’m clearly here to fight!” Suna raised his eyebrows at that and Atsumu glared at him. “I was proving to him that I’m here to stay!”

“So did you?” Suna asked.

Atsumu's mouth snaps closed. 

“He definitely lost,” Osamu answered for him.

“To who?” Suna cut in before Atsumu could retaliate.

Atsumu puts his head in his palms. He’s too tired to argue. “Someone called Kita or something.”

Suna blinks. “Kita?” A startling thought resurfaced suddenly in his mind. “Oh! Kita Shinsuke? Aran’s second in command?”

Atsumu snaps his head up. “Who?!”

“You sparred with Aran’s second in command?” Osamu tries not to laugh but his brother’s expression is tearing down his last restraints. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were.”

“Shut yer trap!” The last hour came back to him full force. Atsumu groans louder into the room. No wonder he had such a commanding aura, maybe Aran got sick of him and sent someone for his ass. 

Suna then remembers the package sitting untouched on the table. “If it’ll console you, someone dropped something off for you.”

Atsumu follows Suna’s gesture towards the table where the bag was gingerly placed, blurred colours peeking through the transparent plastic. He stood up to examine the item, curiously looking inside. It was a welcome distraction to Atsumu. The first thing he spotted was a sticky note stuck to the plastic packaging. He picks it up gingerly and reads:

[ _Dear Atsumu,_

_Eat a proper meal and then sleep._

_Kita._ ]

Atsumu froze. He reads the signed name on the note again in case he has actually gone insane. The packaged pickled plums catch his eyes first when he rips his gaze from the note. He reaches for it gently, hands trembling with the effort. Osamu and Suna watch his eyes fill with tears before Atsumu screams _loud_.

“Pickled Plums!”

Osamu has his face on his palms wondering how he’s related to the idiot having a mental breakdown right in front of him. Suna rubs his back sympathetically.

A loud knock from the door interrupts the chaos within the room. The couple remained on the couch as Atsumu reluctantly answered the door. Swinging the door open, Atsumu was shocked to find the marshal on the other side.

“Aran?!”

“Atsumu.” His voice was as calm as ever. “I need to have a word with you.”

Atsumu is definitely _fucked_.

He throws one last glare at the pair behind him before following Aran outside, ignoring the growing laughter from within the room when he closed the door. They walk down the corridor silently, Aran exchanging pleasantries with the people he passes. Atsumu ignores the curious glances burning the back of his head. He’s used to the scrutiny, sometimes the blatant staring, but he’d appreciate a day without it. Aran brings him to a secluded balcony with an open view of the ocean. 

Waves topple against each other restlessly. Thick, foaming water swallowing up the shore, splashing dangerously close to the Shatterdome. A sturdy metal fence separates them from the raging sea below. Atsumu catches a glimpse of Aran’s depression turning dark.

“The frequency of the Kaijus are getting higher. We can no longer rely on the Government. Our pilots and Jaeger may be strong, but we can no longer afford heavy maintenance like we used to.” 

Atsumu’s grip on the railing tightens when Aran faces him. “We have one completely functional Jaeger left unused after its thorough reparation. To say that the recovery was not cheap is an understatement, but it was the best fighter we had.” Aran pauses briefly. “It still is.”

Atsumu remains silent but he takes in every word.

“I know you’re hesitant to have someone else in your head. I cannot force you to pilot again but I’d like to believe that I know you after all these years. I know that you still want to fight.”

Meters below the sea calls for their attention, thrashing loud against the metal wall of the Shatterdome. Aran’s voice was crystal clear above the water.

“The choice is yours.”

Atsumu swallows hard, eyes locked with the mentor he now calls friend—the person he had looked up to and still admires.

_Go big or go extinct._

**Author's Note:**

> from the same author that birthed the astkt veggietales au  
>   
> [twitter ](https://twitter.com/atsktea) (semi ia)


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